Moments
by PeechTao
Summary: NEW!1-Clint stops over in Tony's mansion in California after a mission in Mexico leaves him broken. Banner helps put him back together CHAPTER 3 UP NOW, DOES CLINT SURVIVE? AND HOW WAS TONY INVOLVED IN THE MEXICO MISSION? 4-Pepper walks in on Clint doing Natasha. (Doing Natasha's makeup that is, and hilarity ensues!) 5-Thor is taught the intricacies of Russian Roulette.
1. Moments

_This book will contain multiple little asides that have fascinated my mind since watching the Avengers and the movies that follow. They may not follow a set storyline and will be unrelated. For the most part, these are little things that get stuck in my mind that I want to write but have no chance to since they don't involve any of my other story arcs. _

**Moments**

**By, PeechTao**

It was late. Nearing two in the morning by the time he made it outside Stark's LA mansion. A steady rain had been falling most of the day and took the time now to switch over into a heavy sheet. Clint rolled into the driveway, almost pulling onto the front porch. He shifted the car into park. He climbed out.

Agent Clint Barton was a member of the elite SHIELD brass with no compare when it came to being an expert marksman. He'd logged thousands of hours in the field. He had over two hundred dead shot kills on his record. But there was one issue in his life he always struggled with. Keeping a hold on his ID. Most missions required him to be undercover. He had a thousand and one different names, faces, characters all adopted for the mission. Mostly he would use an ID, shred it, and move on. But when he lost his SHIELD contacts form. That was a different matter. Romanov often complained about his inability to keep in touch. He was never one to call for back up, so what did it matter?

He'd been driving for three days. It had taken him that long to get across the border in Mexico and back into the US without setting off any alarms. The SHIELD office in downtown Santa Monica had been boarded up since Coulson no longer headed the scout team there. The secondary office in Santa Barbra but no one was answering the access line. Stuck just outside L.A., Clint had few options. He had no money, but that didn't often stop him from scamming a good place to crash. His shirt was missing somewhere on the bad side of Nino Perez along with his bow. He looked like crap, smelled like it to. And there was the small issue in that he could hardly walk. Scamming anything became that much harder. He needed a hospital. But more than that he wanted a bed.

Clint pushed open the door of his stolen Grand Torino and fell out onto the pavement. Half of him was hoping Stark was at his summer home in Italy, or at the Stark Tower in New York. While Clint didn't mind having to deal with Pepper Potts so much, Tony could be a real handful.

He shuffled along the walkway with his right leg trailing behind him. He wasn't bleeding, an improvement on past experiences. But that didn't mean he was getting off easy. Slowly, painfully, he limped his way to Stark's front door and tapped the keypad.

"_Agent Barton, a pleasure as always to see you." _Stark's AI butler of sorts, JARVIS chimed at him.

"Morning JARVIS." Clint replied. "Mind opening up?"

If the answer was no, Clint was already prepared to open a window by force. He was glad that it didn't come to that. The door clicked and buckled. Clint reached a hand forward and pushed the door open the rest of the way.

He used the handle as a crutch to get along. If he remembered the house's layout, the closest place to stretch out was in the living room downstairs.

_Well, at least it's down. _Clint told himself.

"_Sir, shall I bother waking Mr. Stark?"_

Clint reached the hall table and stood there for a while, holding himself up with his hands. "Forget it. Let the guy sleep. I'll be gone by morning anyway." Clint said.

"_Very good, Agent Barton."_

Clint made it to the stairs. It took him a while. Progress was slow as he tried to keep as much weight from bearing on his leg as possible. He'd hurt it high by his hip. The ache was deep enough to warrant a break. At least now it had been painful long enough to be a nuisance rather than a full on agony that before had him reeling in a Mexican gutter.

Barton eased down the stairs one step at a time. The railing was a help. When he made it to the living room just the sight of the couch was enough to let that eternal exhaustion that had been dogging him for so long. He half-crawled the rest of the way to the couch until he was standing over it wondering how to get on. He shifted his lower body down, only to realize that flexing his leg was just about the worst idea. He tried shuffling his upper half down, but that helped little. In the end, after a little indecision, he crushed over sideways and rolled onto his back. It was killer, but it worked.

Stark's couch was about as comfortable as a ply board back brace. Given most of the things he'd dealt with in his life on the road, to Clint it was akin to a Holiday Inn Express in Istanbul. He was asleep in minutes.

Bruce Banner awakened by the sound of JARVIS speaking in the living room to someone. First thought would have been Tony Stark, but given the man was laying in the bed across from him, that option was taken off the table. Bruce pushed himself up from the chair he'd fallen asleep in and rubbed a hand across his eyes. The last thing he remembered was talking to Tony about his recurring nightmares. A fact he'd dealt with himself on occasion. Somewhere in that time, Stark must have fallen asleep in bed with Bruce sitting like a statue in his chair.

Banner got out of his chair and rubbed a hand across his eyes to wake himself up. If JARVIS wasn't having a conversation with Tony, then someone else must have arrived in the night. His first guess would have included Pepper, but she had just left the day prior on business to Tokyo.

With a stifled yawn on his lips, Banner headed out to the living room to take a look around. Ever since his new and improved association with SHIELD, the thought of finding a hoard of green army men attacking in the night was more of a dream then a reality.

"_Good morning Dr. Banner, sorry to disturb you_." JARVIS greeted.

"Meh." Banner replied sleepily. "What's going on out here?"

There was the sound of something crashing to his left and Banner turned quickly to see what had happened. What he found was a considerable surprise. "Agent Barton?" Bruce said.

Clint Barton was making an attempted silent escape up the stairs without being observed. The trouble was beside not being very stealthy, he was attempting to get up the stairs backwards by pulling himself up with his arms while seated on one step at a time. He'd managed to get to the first three before exhaustion and pain made him quit.

Clint looked up from his struggle to see the doctor. "Oh, Dr. Banner, I didn't expect you to be here."

Bruce approached, cautiously at first. It was a peculiar occurrence to see the SHIELD agent randomly in the middle of the night, especially given the state he was in. "I think that's mutual. What are you doing here?"

Clint shrugged his shoulders then seemed to regret it. "Tried to get a hold of the LA field office, but no such luck."

"Its down isn't it?" Banner replied.

Clint nodded. "Forgot. Lost my SHIELD contacts. Lost my mission brief. I need to check in at the Santa Barbra office but no one answered last night."

As Banner came closer he began to realize Clint was injured. Why else would he be trying to climb up the stairs using nothing but his arms? "Hey, you ok?"

"Fine. Had worse." Clint lied. "Not even bleeding."

"Yeah, but you look like you got hit by a truck or something." Bruce climbed the few stairs to kneel next to him.

"Not quite, but you are close." Clint replied.

Banner grabbed Clint around the chest and helped him to his feet, or would have if Clint could stand on both legs without collapsing. Surprised at the sudden weight on him, Bruce stumbled down a few steps which dragged Clint with him. They barely managed to right themselves before hitting the bottom landing. Clint reached out and grabbed the railing but his body twisted with Bruce's arms. He shifted his body weight to his broken leg and suddenly everyone within a three mile radius knew exactly how much pain Clint was hiding. Banner readjusted, and hauled Clint single handedly to the couch. He had expected once they got there that he would be able to shift Clint into a more comfortable position, but that turned out to be more difficult than he thought. In the end it required nothing more than Clint falling into position to get him seated.

"Nicely done." Banner said. "So what did you do to yourself? And where did you come from anyway?"

Clint tried to push himself up, but gave up on the idea half way. "Classified. And don't take me wrong, but I don't think you're that kind of doctor."

Bruce grinned and sat on the low coffee table to face the SHIELD assassin. "Actually I was exactly that kind of doctor for two years in Calcutta before your lot came after me."

Clint seemed surprised.

"You weren't around when Agent Romanov came knocking." Bruce elaborated, then regretted his words. He hadn't seen much of Barton since the attack on New York. That was almost a month ago now. Since then Banner had been working tirelessly with Tony in the lab while he assumed the SHIELD assassins had gotten back to their regular day jobs. Like harassing young children and chasing skirts. Banner spent little time with the real Clint Barton. They'd met at the mission debriefing and Tony's shwarma run. No one was particularly talkative then either.

"Yeah I wasn't around for a lot."

They sat uncomfortably together for a little while, staring at each other. When it was obvious Banner was not about to leave without getting an exam on his patient, Clint begrudgingly agreed.

'Tell no one of this." Clint said. "The last thing I need is Director Fury on my tail about getting a physical from Bruce Banner at Tony Stark's house. Even the sound of that is just wrong."

Bruce laughed. "Sure, ok. Can you tell me what you broke or is that classified too?"

Clint gave him a wry look.

"If you don't tell me, then I'm just going to have to strip the rest of you naked and that story you don't want to tell SHIELD is going to get a lot weirder."

The look turned to daggers and Bruce realized he was walking a thin edge with the agent. He sighed. "Look, I can't diagnose you if you don't give me something. You could have head trauma, a ruptured spleen, a shattered pelvis. I won't know unless you say something."

Clint looked around, as if at any moment someone may appear and save him the shame of a physical exam but with no such savior on the horizon he decided at last that relenting may be the wiser decision. "Fine. My right leg."

Bruce leaned in, his hands doing all the work for him as he probed first the bare foot, then moved to the ankle. "Low or high?"

"High." Clint replied.

Bruce worked the ankle bones around in his trained hands, flexing and rotating until he was sure that no problem lay hidden there. Then he moved up to the calf and little by little assessed every bone. "How high?" he asked.

"Almost to my hip."

"How'd it happen?" When Clint wouldn't respond right away, Bruce altered tactics. "Did you fall on it? Did someone beat you with a baseball bat? Did it get twisted? Shut in a car door?"

"I got beat." Clint said flippantly.

While this wasn't necessarily a surprise given his line of work, the knowledge did give Bruce some pause. It must have shown on his face, since Clint willingly went on to elaborate.

"Mission got hairy. I was stuck in a tight spot. Torture devises have never been that effective but they do try. One guy propped my leg up, the other came down with a bat. Now I'm walking with a limp. Descriptive enough, Doc?"

Bruce was at Clint's knees now. He tried to flex the joint, but the protest mounted from his patient was enough to make him stop. "You can feel all this I'm doing?"

Clint nodded, biting his lip.

"Have you ever had a broken leg?"

"Once."

"Which one?"

"The left leg."

Bruce moved his hands up slower, feeling the swelling already beneath his fingers. "How long ago did this happen?"

"About two days."

Now Bruce stopped altogether. He looked seriously at Clint. "Two days? Haven't you gotten any treatment since then? Local hospital, backwoods clinic, something? Are you taking anything like aspirin?"

"Yes, No, No, No." Clint answered in sequence. "Don't know if you've ever been south of the border but there are some places that you just keep driving through even if you have an eyeball falling out of your head."

Bruce shook his head. "I have been south. That's where I did a lot of work for a while so yes I know what you mean. Did you walk here?"

"What?! No I didn't walk here, I stole a car and drove."

Bruce let that statement hang in the air a while without discovering anything to respond with. He moved on, finding where Clint's swelling was worst. He could tell the brake was a doozy. Set right next to Clint's pelvis it looked like whoever had beat him did it in such a way that the head of his femur snapped off in the socket. At least that is what Bruce suspected.

"Hate to tell you, but you've got something serious here." Bruce said. "I can't tell if the fracture's displaced or not, but it's pretty bad either way. Your leg's swollen like a bowling ball. Your circulation to your foot's not the best, and without getting a good look I can't tell if you've broken any important blood vessels. Given that you aren't dead yet, I would say your femoral artery is intact. But beyond that I can't say. Would it shame your sensibilities too much to ask you to drop those trousers? If you're going commando, then do me the favor and say no."

Clint tried to raise himself up, but Bruce pushed him right back down.

"Now, stop jittering around! If you do have shards rolling around in there it's only going to make things worse if you keep moving."

Clint stopped and folded his arms. "Look, I don't have time for this play doctor crap, I still haven't checked in and I was due at the Santa Barbra office four days ago. If the Director doesn't hear from me by then I don't have any one as a buffer to tell him I haven't gone AWOL or worse. I don't have time for this."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence." Bruce said. He threw up his hands. "I don't know what I can do—Wait, maybe I do." He stood and headed up the hall at the back of the house. As far as he could remember, Tony had left his cell phone on the nightstand. More likely than not it had a contact number for SHIELD stowed away inside.

When he walked in, Tony was still sleeping stretched out in his bed. He shuffled a little when he heard Bruce walk in. His eyes blinked open to look over.

"What's going on?" he asked bleary eyed.

"Nothing, go back to sleep." Bruce told him.

"I was asleep?"

"Yeah you were, now go back to sleep." Bruce grabbed Tony's phone off the nightstand and hit a few keys to bring it to life. The phone lock screen was the first thing that greeted him. It was a problem he hadn't planned on. He went back to Tony and shook his arm.

"Tony, put in your phone key for me."

Stark rolled over and stretched.

"Tony, come on, put your phone key in, I need to use it."

Stark reached out blindly and let Bruce put it in his hand. He flicked a few keys with his fingers and dropped it on the bed for Bruce to pick up.

"Told you," Tony said, "No 1-900 numbers."

"Very funny." Bruce said and walked out, shutting the door behind him. He made it back to the living room, flicking through the digital phone book to come up with something that screamed SHIELD. When "One-Eyed Scarface" appeared, he knew he'd found Tony's number for Director Nick Fury.

But what he'd found in going to Tony's room he lost in leaving the living room. Clint Barton was no longer sitting on the couch waiting for him to return. Instead the Assassin was attempting to get to the stairs again. He wasn't having a lot of success. His good arm steadied his walk along the wall. His other hand was pressed against his hip as if to keep his right leg from trying to fall off. Bruce let him walk for a minute, watching his progress and using it to determine the severity of the break. His initial assumption remained, however. It definitely looked like he'd broken his leg right by his hip joint.

Clint made it to the stair railing. He looked up, wondering if he could chance the trip a second time. That's when Bruce decided he'd seen enough.

"Will you get back on that couch before I strap you there?" He said.

Clint spun around in surprise, which only managed to topple him off balance until he hit the floor on his side.

Bruce dialed the number on Stark's phone as he walked over to the downed assassin. He passed the handset over. "It's Fury, check in already and then I'm taking you to a hospital."

"I'm not going to a hos—"

"Yes you are, and if you don't like it you can tell Fury all about it." Bruce replied.

It didn't take long for the Director's voice to appear on the other end of the phone. Even this early in the morning, a willing call from Tony Stark's cell was important enough to get the attention of anyone. The slight lag was, although, opportunity enough for Clint to give him a begrudging look.

He spoke into the handset with a clipped voice. "Director, its Barton. Checking in."

"_Well it's about time, Hell I thought I'd finely gotten rid of you." _Fury complained in his typical annoyed tone.

"Not so much—"

Banner grabbed the phone before Clint could finish and walked away a few paces with it in his hands. From the floor Clint protested bitterly.

"Director Fury? Hello, it's Bruce. I've got Agent Barton with me here at Stark's place outside L.A. He's suffered a severe fracture to his leg and won't be much use to anyone unless I get him checked out."

"_He's not much use to me laid up." _Fury pointed out.

"Understand that, but I'm sure you can make do." Bruce ended the call and turned back to Clint who'd rolled over onto his stomach and was attempting to army crawl after Banner.

Bruce grinned. "Looks like I got you a free ticket. I'm going to go steal one of Tony's cars and then I'm taking you to the hospital." He crouched down beside Clint, passing the phone back to him. "If you know what's good for you, you'll go willingly. You wouldn't like me when I'm angry."

* * *

I know this story doesn't offer much by way of interest/resolve/character depth or those other important things in a story such as plot. but i just couldn't get this silly thing out of my mind. perhaps in the future i will expand on it.


	2. Moments Chapter 2

By popular demand! Here is Part 2 Of Moments! In this we see what happens after Bruce decides Clint needs a hospital.

**Moments 1 **

**Part 2**

Bruce left Clint to think about his threat without attempting to pick him up again. Rather than deal with Clint's stolen car in the parking lot, Bruce figured taking one of Tony's was a more prudent plan. He'd been considering buying his own car soon, given he was taken to actually setting up some roots in this place, but with his constant globetrotting between Stark Tower in New York and the mansion in Malibu, Tony wouldn't hear of it. Bruce was being given a minor stipend for his retention services to SHIELD and a much more substantial pay from Stark's R and D department so he could afford something if he chose it.

Bruce reentered Tony's room. The man was still in bed but coming around to consciousness since first being disturbed. Bruce fished around the side table for a set of keys. Most of the fancier cars had their own remote starts and corresponding keys locked in a safe downstairs, but Bruce didn't feel like working the lock at this time of the morning.

"What's going on?" Tony asked.

"Nothing, I've got it." Banner told him. "Where are your keys?"

"You leaving?"

"Just for a bit. Where are they?"

Tony pointed to the closet door. Banner pulled it open to meet a wall of woman's shoes on one side and a dresser beneath a row of curtain rods on the other.

"Top drawer." Tony said. "And honestly, if you called yourself a lady of the night, do try and find a clean hotel and don't get frisky in the back of my car."

Banner found the keys and slipped them into his pocket. He noticed then that he slept most of the night in his clothes from the day before. He smoothed out his t-shirt and fixed his pants.

"Bruce?"

The doctor looked up from his primping. Tony was sitting up in bed now. "Really, what's going on?"

Since it wasn't necessarily a secret, Bruce didn't feel he was doing a disservice from saying the truth. "Agent Barton's out in the living room. Seems he had some trouble during a mission in Mexico. I'm going to take him over to the hospital to get his leg looked at."

Tony threw off his blanket and grabbed his shirt off the floor.

"Stark, I've got it. Go back to bed. We'll be back later today."

"No, I'm up. Is he all right?"

Bruce knew that once Tony had his mind set on something there was little that would stop him. So he grabbed a pair of pants out of the closet and some shoes and handed them to Tony.

"I'll need help walking him down to the garage I think. He's got a broken leg."

"He-What?" Tony pulled on his second shoe but stopped before going further. His shock was evident.

"Yeah, seems the mission didn't go to plan. Some guys grabbed him, broke his leg. Didn't say why. Not saying anything really. If you still wanna come I could use a hand getting him to the car."

Tony grabbed a jacket and headed into the living room where he found Clint laying against the staircase. He was pale, sweating some. He was definitely in pain leaving Tony to wonder how the agent even got into his house, how long he'd been there, and with a leg like that how he made it from Mexico to Malibu at all.

"Hey, look who the cat dragged in. You know, I thought I told Banner no strays." Tony said approaching.

Clint glared at Bruce. "I never agreed to go. I definitely did not agree to go with him."

"Oh, behave Talon Toes. I'm here to help move you. Besides, it's my car. I drive."

"Then I'll take my car." Clint retorted.

"Your car was stolen from someone in Mexico. No, we are not taking that. In fact I'll probably have Tony push it off the cliff before some drug lord shows up to claim it. Tony, give me a hand." Banner took one side and Stark the other as they got Clint back up on his feet. Despite all of the agent's protests, Bruce could see a visible relief in him. He might hate being handled like an invalid, but it was better being here among two acquaintances then out on his own. Just the short trip to the garage took a considerable time for the three of them and a toll on Clint. Bruce was slightly taller than the other two, giving him a disproportionate amount of Clint's not inconsiderable weight. While Barton may have been an ordinary human, he was built like a weightlifter. When they reached the door to the garage, Tony had to shift more of Clint over to accessed the data pad and scan his hand. The door slid aside with a hiss and the three entered.

Clint looked around at the new area. He'd done minor recon at the Stark mansion a year ago for Coulson so he had a good idea of where he was. But he hadn't ever been in this inner sanctum of Tony's home workshop. A massive circular collider rested disassembled in one corner. There were various cars. Some were in a state of construction. Engine parts and carburetors dotted around their open hoods with grease spots soaking into the floor. The room had seen better days if the numerous patched up holes and human sized concrete marks were any indication of use.

"Nice car." Clint commented as he was carried over to Tony's Mercedes. "What, not going to let me take the Shelby out?"

"That roadster is my baby, and I melted her engine. So no." Tony replied. He pulled open the back seat door. "And don't get any ideas of breaking in to my lab some day because my robot will kill you."

Clint found it hard to tell if Tony was telling the truth or not. Surely if he had the ability to build the Marc 1 Iron Man suit out of desert scraps, he could design something reminiscent of Thor's Destroyer. He leaned more towards joking, but did take the warning for what it was.

"Ease in." Bruce told him. "I don't want you moving more than you have to. You still have the chance to bleed to death on us."

"Thanks, mom." Clint replied. He pulled himself, painfully, into the back set and slid himself backwards until his back was against the far door and his legs were stretched in front of him. He was forced to bend his knees in order to get the door closed.

Tony got into the driver's seat and started the car up. "Of all places in the country and you showed up here. I'm touched, really."

Clint groaned. "Am I going to listen to this the whole way?"

"It was probably either you or sleep in the car." Bruce commented, pulling his seatbelt on. "I'm glad you came in, Agent Barton. I'd feel better if you got looked at. I know it's inconvenient."

"That's one word for it." Clint replied. "I've been going for the past month straight. Fury prefers me off the Helicarrier after New York."

Bruce shot a glance back. "He doesn't blame you for any of that, does he? Dr. Selvig, even me, Loki had going."

Clint was looking out the window to the dark night they'd driven out of the garage into. The rain was still coming heavily down. He'd left the driver's door open to the Torino. "I couldn't tell you what he thinks."

"Seen much of the little leather liar, my ex-employee?" Tony asked.

"Tash's been in Russia since the Kremlin attack." Clint said.

"Kremlin? I saw that. Does she know what happened? I know SHIELD sent Steve over to try and mull things in case the US was named in the attack."

Clint was silent. He looked out the window still. "Classified." he said after a while. "Go to West Hill if you can."

"Hotter nurses there?" Tony asked.

The car hit a rut in the rode, jostling Clint enough to make him cry out. Bruce turned again to see the agent had gone white. His hands were on either side of his leg to keep it from moving too much.

"Slow down a little, Tony." Bruce said.

"Keep your eyes on the road Stark, you trying to kill me?" Clint growled.

"He speaks." Tony replied. "No backseat driving, you aren't Daisy. So what ex-boyfriend got hold of you? Let me just ask, was she worth it?"

"Pepper's been away a while. Forgive his perverted mind." Bruce said. To Tony he added, "He got the crap kicked out of him. Give him a break."

"Think someone already did." Tony shot back. "What I want to know is how he drove all the way to my place with one leg. And how did you get into my house anyway?"

"JARVIS let me in. And please, stop trying to hit every rut in the road."

"Hey, what did I say about back-seat driving?"

"Anthony-"

Stark flicked a look over to Bruce. He could count on one finger how many times Bruce had ever referred to him by that name.

"Take it easy, he's looking a little rough."

Tony noticeably slowed, easing the Mercedes halfway over the white line and off the ridge that was grinding his tires. He glanced in the rearview mirror to see Clint relax somewhat.

"Classified? Sounds sexy. Is that what they're feeding all the government agency stooges now?"

Clint didn't answer. He leaned heavily against the door, wondering to himself whether it would open arbitrarily and dumb him on the highway. So far no such luck. The last thing he wanted was to be in this car, going to any hospital. He wanted a shower. A bed, maybe even a trip to the apartment he left abandoned in Atlanta.

"Is it too late to change my mind on this?" Clint asked.

"Yes." Bruce replied.

"I'll give you a bargain." Tony piped in. "If you can beat me, in a mile run which I real hate doing, then you can leave and steal another car and run away."

"Done."

"Can I say how disturbed I am that you answered so fast."

Bruce sighed. "It's because you didn't stipulate whether or not he was allowed to maim you first."

"Ok that's just mean."

:(:):(:):

It wasn't far to the hospital. By the time they reached it, the morning had only shifted to four-am. The emergency room seemed relaxed enough, the rain keeping most of the typical party-harders from serious trouble. A few car accidents had the attendants busy but not overly so.

Tony pulled around to the emergency entrance to let Clint out easier. He opened his own door, braving the driving rain to help Clint out. Bruce waited in the alcove to walk Clint in.

"Here we are, first stop, pointy things and rubber gloves. Get out and get a rectal." Tony hooked his arms beneath Clint's and pulled him out of the back seats. Contrary to the first journey to the car, Clint was markedly more exhausted this time. He helped little in his own escape and relied on Tony to get him to Banner.

"Hey, Bird, you doing ok?" Tony whispered.

"Don't want to go." Clint replied.

"I got that when you threatened to stab me in the leg then beat me in a foot race, but give me a hand here."

Bruce noticed the struggle and walked over. He grabbed Clint from Tony's arms and hauled him into the ER. This time there was no discussion. Clint was going whether he wanted to or not.

Tony stood beside his car, watching them walk in. This was not exactly what he had planned for his morning, especially after finally getting to sleep. But he supposed if anything was going to wake him up during the night, he preferred to be at service to . . . What exactly? Agent Barton wasn't necessarily a friend. If anything the majority of their knowledge of one another they were enemies. So what was this?

_Guilt._ Tony said to himself. He got into his car and pulled around to the guest parking. He wondered if SHIELD knew their little fledgling was out of the coup and into a hospital. After what he did for Loki, the damage he could do just as a one-man-wrecking-crew Tony didn't imagine SHIELD gave Clint too loose a leash to choke on. He met them at the counter of the waiting room checking in. Clint was fishing through his pockets for something but wasn't sharing what that something was. Obviously he didn't find it.

"I thought- I thought I at least had my hospital contacts." Clint muttered, still pulling the linings out of his pockets. He looked like a tired wet blanket with a broken leg. Seeing him in the light like this made Tony realize why Banner wanted to help him.

Tony walked over. "What's up? Lost your lollipop?"

"My health clearance." Clint said. "Agent Issued. I thought I salvaged it, but I must not have."

The nurse behind the station looked like the last thing she wanted to do was listen to Clint figure out his problems. She tapped her red nails in succession along the table top and slid a handful of paperwork over to him. "Front form's your health info, second form's your insurance info, third form's the disclaimer, on the back-"

Clint pushed the paperwork back to her. "Is Kim here? Nurse Kim T-something?"

The girl raised her eyebrows. "Is this a social call?"

Clint gave her an exacerbated look. "Does this look like a social call? If I was bleeding and in cardiac arrest I would have Nurse Kim-whatever's-name tattooed to my chest. Is she here?"

Bruce whispered to him. "Clint what are you doing?"

"The agency has certain contacts in place in case of mishaps. I need that nurse." Clint explained. "If you are forcing me to be do this then we are doing it my way."

"Fine." Tony said, overhearing them. He shouted across the entire nurse station. "Hello! Iron Man standing right here, looking for a girl named Kim- I said Iron Man, _the_ Tony Stark standing right here with a couple of Avengers and we are looking for Nurse Kim!"

Clint looked at Bruce. "I changed my mind, can you just let me crawl under a rock? Or die?"

"I'll crawl under with you." Bruce told him.

Clint turned to leave but Bruce grabbed his elbow and spun him back.

Most of the waiting room was on their feet now trying to get a look at the three men standing at the nurse station. Thankfully it did attract the attention of one familiar face. Clint had seen her picture before in some mission debrief. Even if he didn't remember her last name, he knew that this was Kim. He leaped on the opportunity to grab her.

"Miss, Agent here. I don't have creds. Have you been debriefed for this?"

She seemed shocked by all the excitement but after a minute to collect herself she nodded furiously and came around the counter. Nail Polish barked a fit, but she was ignored as the frantic Nurse Kim led the party of three away. She spoke hurriedly as they went.

"I'm sorry, they told me this might happen, but I never had to actually do this. Can you walk- Wait here, let me get a wheel chair."

"No!" Clint replied. "I would rather be carried through this place on Stark's back then be wheeled around."

"Uh, that was never provided for an option." Tony said.

With Banner supporting him, the three went down the hall until the nurse found an abandoned exam room. She opened the door and showed them in. Two beds lay side by side with a small curtain strung between. The nurse pushed the curtain back and indicated the bed.

"Please, make yourself comfortable." She said.

Tony moved to the far one and laid down with his hands behind his head. Clint eyed the spare bed but didn't move to sit down. The nurse stood there in the uncomfortable silence for a minute, looking starry-eyed at the three, then realized she had a job to do. She rushed out the door to grab a new file then ran back inside with a pen in her hands and a clipboard.

"Sorry, I just- new-" She waved her hand as if to try and dismiss everything she just said. "So, I just need basic information. Age?"

Clint told her.

"Patient ID?"

He sighed, trying to think. "Uh- last time I used that I was in Sudan. Just put A dash CB Care of A dash N R. That will get it into the right hands."

She scribbled at the top of the file and read absentmindedly through the more tedious information. "A-C.B. Age, male, Priority one? Am I saying that right?"

Clint nodded.

"Sexually active?"

This one Tony jumped to answer. "Not currently. That would be awkward for all four of us."

Without thinking, the girl wrote that down. Clint glared at Stark.

"Primary complaint?'

Now Banner stepped in to answer. "High femoral fracture, Right leg. Considerable inflammation and decreased circulation to extremity. Duration two days. No medications,. Will that be enough?"

"I just have to take some quick readings." She grabbed some medical instruments and went through the general work up. His blood pressure was low, temperature low, heart rate high, respiratory high.

She nodded and wrote at the same time. "Any additional questions the doctor will be sure to ask. I'll get him immediately." She excused herself, hanging the chart on the door as she went. Only a second later she rushed back in with a gown in her hands. "Sorry, sorry. I Forgot I need you to get into this. Thanks!" and away she went again.

Clint looked at the backless hospital gown as if it was a rabid dog meant to be shot. "I am not wearing that." he said.

"Yes you are." Bruce told him. He picked it up and unfolded it. "How do you think they're going to x-ray you? With your pants on? I thought you said you'd broken a leg before, don't you remember how this goes?"

Clint snatched the garment from him and threw it at Stark who was giggling incessantly on the other bed. "I did break my leg before. I was sixteen and I was thrown off a trapeze and left for dead. I woke up with a busted everything and didn't have to suffer through this part."

"Oh my God."

Bruce and Clint looked over at Tony.

Stark's jaw was dropped in a playful expression. "You were a carny? Oh this is too rich. Were you the bearded lady?"

Clint pivoted and hobbled for the door. "I'm done. I'll drive to SHIELD on my own and just hide in a basement for the next six weeks. I'm not doing this."

Bruce picked up a handful of pens off the counter and threw them at Tony. "Thanks for the support!" Bruce told him. "Clint, wait. Stop moving a minute and just let them-"

Clint pushed the door open and was about to make his, rather slow, escape but suddenly he stopped. Bruce's hand reached his shoulder to keep him from running out, but he wasn't resisted against. Clint's hand was on his hip, as if trying to stem the pain, but now there was something else as well. His body shivered. Clint's face looked down, then back to the others.

"Bruce?" he said the name quietly but anyone could hear the sudden panic infused in it.

Bruce's heart dropped.

Time sped up immeasurably. At first Clint was standing, then he was on the floor screaming and shocky. Tony pushed up from the bed, confused. Bruce was calling for a doctor. He ordered Tony closer. Together they removed Clint's shoes then yanked his pants off and discarded them in a corner. Bruce screamed for a doctor again. Clint's leg was swollen high, but worse than that was the sudden red starbursts pooling beneath his skin. His foot went cold, his pulse dropped, and he was gasping in fast shallow breaths between his cries of fright and pain.

"What's going on?" Tony asked terrified. "Bruce what's happening?!"

Banner grabbed Tony by the arm and shoved him into the hall. "Get me a doctor fast, he's going to bleed to death!"

Stark was up like a shot and gone.

"I told you not to move." Banner said quietly, "Clint I told you."

"Hurts." Clint managed through his pain.

"I know." Bruce said. His hands were clamped down on Clint's thigh, trying desperately to stave the blood pouring out of his femoral artery. "You need surgery, now, or you are going to die. Do you understand me?"

Clint's left hand was over his face, trying to keep his head from swimming. His other was clamped onto Bruce's wrist like a lifeline.

"Clint talk to me!"

The SHIELD agent looked at him. His eyes were full of terror. "Don't want to-" He didn't say the last word as if to say it meant it may actually come true. It had been a long time since he was scared, truly scared. This was one of those times.

"You're not." Bruce told him with such conviction it could only be the truth.

The world sped up again. Suddenly the room was flooded with doctors. Clint was lifted onto the gurney and hooked to ten monitors at a time. Within a few minutes he had two catheters in, a trachea team waiting to intubate him, and a knock-out cocktail swimming through his veins. The surgical room was called. Clint was wheeled out and Bruce and Tony were left in the wreckage of the exam room with nothing but Clint's torn off clothes and the spare bed.

"What just happened?" Tony asked. His eyes were fixed on the hall they'd taken Clint down. He had a terrible fear Clint would never again come back from that hall. It was like watching a beloved pet take that final long walk. Or the day he was told his father was dead.

"Fracture." Bruce told him. "I warned Clint not to do too much. When he walked away, maybe even before, it must have finally cut the artery."

"He going to be ok?"

Bruce lifted his hands and let them drop. "I don't know, Tony. I really don't."

* * *

new chapter! Oh, so excited. Please enjoy :)


	3. Moments Chapter 3

Moments 1

Part 3

Orthopedic surgery on a stable patient, under normal conditions, could take anywhere between one hour to twelve. Surgery on a massive internal bleed with a patient threatening to die on the table could take appreciatively longer if it was decided to set the bone at the same time of the surgery to save his life. Given these variables, and the overwhelming third possibility that Clint could die at any moment, Tony and Bruce were left to wonder whether they should stay in the waiting room or return to Tony's mansion. It was now five in the morning.

The hospital cafeteria was open by now. Their hunger had reached a stage at which even the food offered there was welcome. They slipped through the hospital wings, taking care to avoid the majority of the waiting areas. Most of the staff by that point had come to realize that the Avengers were in the building and though Tony was in a mind to greet everyone Bruce preferred his peace and quiet.

The cafeteria was slow and empty. A few tables full of scrub-clad nurses and doctors dotted the room. Most looked up at the newcomers and whispered as they went by. Soon the braver ones would come over to meet them. The Avengers walked down the buffet line and took a seat in a corner across from each other. They ate in silence. Their stomachs didn't end up being as empty as they initially considered which left most of their plates full.

"Well, this was unexpected." Bruce said. "I'm sorry, Tony, I should have just let you sleep."

Tony waved his hand dismissively. "What else could I be doing right now that didn't include a SHIELD carny bleeding to death in a hospital? Hmm, don't answer that. There are a substantial amount of other things I could be doing right now."

"I'd feel bad leaving. I'm not big on this," he gestured around the room. "You know? Been in one too many institutions. It might get a little busy with everyone recognizing us."

"You want to go?" Tony asked.

Bruce shook his head yet indecision showed.

"What are we going to do if we stay? Robin Hood crashes my place in the middle of the morning, sleeps on my couch, and leaves a stolen car in my parking lot. Then we drive him to the hospital he doesn't want to go to, and when he tries to leave he collapses and dies." At Bruce's pointed disapproval, Tony amended his statement. "Collapses, fine, but you saw what I did. What do you think is going to happen?"

"What's your deal with him?" Bruce asked. "Sure you're constantly at me with sharp pointy things and riding my case, but you haven't given him a good word the entire time. What do you have against him?"

Tony got up from the table. He'd eaten none of his food. "Let's go. We're not doing anything here."

"Tony, I asked—"

"I know what you asked, and this is me not answering."

Bruce tilted his head. "Wait a minute . . . you like him."

"Thanks for the suggestion, but I think Pepper would disapprove of a relationship."

Bruce stood up as well. He knew that he was right and no matter what he was going to make Tony see that too. "You keep on him, but you _do_ like him. Wait a minute, didn't you refit his arrows after the attack?"

Tony threw his arms in the air. "I did nothing to anything on that SHIELD suit."

"You did, I remember that part. He had a mission in Russia. You just suddenly decided to go to Moscow for some reason you refused to explain and Pepper didn't let you go. Then the Kremlin blew."

"I'm not listening to this- lah lah lah!" Tony stuck his fingers in his ears as he headed for the hospital parking lot. Bruce was dogging his heels, refusing to let the matter just drop.

"Tony, you heard what Fury said. Hawkeye was never supposed to be part of the group. What are you trying to get at? Will you just— Tony stop a second."

They were outside. Bruce put his hands on Tony's shoulder to stop him. Stark shrugged him off but at least he wasn't running from him now. They looked at one another. The rain was coming down without sign of letting up. The small alcove entrance shielded them from the brunt of the storm. Even in the dim light from the overhead, Bruce could see the anguish now on Stark's face.

"That make you feel better?" Tony asked him. "To know we were friends? Yeah, Clint's a jerk. I am too. He plays for the team, I don't. He told me he was going to Russia, I offer to help. It was covert and apparently I don't do that very well. He asked me for help in Mexico and I told him no. If Clint didn't need me before he didn't need me now. How was I to know he was getting the crap kicked out of him?"

Bruce didn't know what to say. Of everything he expected to come out of Stark's mouth he didn't expect that. "Tony—"

"I don't want to just stand here waiting for them to come out and tell me he's dead and that it was my fault for telling him no. I don't want that, Bruce. I'm leaving. Are you coming?" Tony didn't wait for an answer. He went into the sea of reporters flocking around the emergency entrance alone. He didn't stop to speak to anyone or to take a publicity shot. They followed him to his car with some breaking off to question Bruce in the alcove.

Bruce could read the subtle cues in his friend. Tony wanted to be alone, but more than that he wanted Bruce to stay with Clint because Tony couldn't. Guilt. That was the first time Banner had seen that emotion on his friend. Bruce stayed in the alcove, watching the rain fall as Tony drove away. He knew once Stark stopped beating himself up he'd be back. For now, Tony needed his space. Bruce could hold down the fort until he came around again. He smiled at the reporters but didn't offer any insight into the hidden hospital patient they were protecting.

:(:):(:):

"And this guy, he like totally bought this. He is more emotionally unstable then me, I swear, but the team was nice. Inexperienced. I almost died like six-no seven. More like seven times."

Bruce nodded, pulling the recovery room door closed as he listened to Clint come around from anesthesia. There was a doctor present taking a few vital readings. The minute Clint's mouth started going, that doctor shot a frantic look at Bruce.

"State secrets," Bruce told him jokingly. "You are hereby sworn to secrecy lest you face a firing squad as a traitor to the country. Actually, you should probably just go to keep yourself from being further compromised."

The doctor high tailed it. Bruce smiled and sat down beside Clint.

"MI-6, IMF, Black Cobra, CIA, they're all the same. You know I've worked with each one of them?" Clint went on dreamily. Bruce was happy no one in SHIELD was there to listen to his rant, it wouldn't bode well if he ever happened to be captured on mission and spilled every bit of know-how from all the missions he'd been on.

"All of those? You must globe trot a bunch."

"IMF. Kremlin. That was a mess. Do you know _you_ almost died? Like twelve days ago? Big bomb. Stolen Russian nuclear codes,. I was burned by that mission. Mexico was a little worse. Do you know what I like about Natasha? She's got the most amazing eyes. Hair's ok and the ways she can kill a person are just— its a thing to watch. I shouldn't say it."

Bruce nodded as if he was listening intently. Frankly he wanted to know nothing of Clint's undercover activities. The pretend paranoia he'd instilled in the good doctor was wearing off on him as well.

"I like you Bruce." Clint said. "I like the Hulk just a little bit more. Nothing against you he's just . . . comical or something. I don't know. Wasn't Tony here? These drugs are great, you know. I think I may stay here a while."

Bruce patted his arm. "Tony'll be back. He had to get some things squared away yesterday. Do you remember what happened? To your leg?"

Clint's web of medication lifted for a moment. He looked very seriously at Bruce. "That's classified."

"Clint, you just sat there and told me that you helped blow up the Kremlin, that you were on some secret mission somewhere and-"

"And what?" Clint demanded. "You can't use any of that against me. This conversation is over." He eased back down on the bed with his arms crossed, straining the various lines of fluids.

Bruce sat back in his chair, surprised to say the very least at the strange change this course had taken. "Clint, it's Bruce Banner. Avengers? SHIELD?"

Clint was on his side, giggling to himself in the fog of medication. "Classified means I won't tell you."

"Clint its Bruce—"

"I _will not tell you_. Don't you get it? Do what you want, I'm not telling you how to find Stark!" he was smiling, the advent of morphine and anesthesia in his veins keeping him from breaking apart though they were also keeping him in a painful past. "Do what you want. I'm not going to tell you. You can kill me first."

There was a knock at the door. Bruce felt torn between staying by the bed with his hand on Clint's arm and getting up to see who was there. In the end he got up and cracked it open. A man stood there in a white coat, familiar from the brief conversation Bruce had with him an hour ago when Clint was taken out of surgery. Orthopedic specialist. He wanted to check on the patient.

"He's talking," Bruce told him before he allowed the man in. "You need to forget everything he says. Understand?"

The doctor seemed unsure of the strange request. "Doctor-patient privilege bars me from—"

"This has nothing to do with that." Bruce interjected. At first he was just joking with the poor guy before but after what Clint just revealed to him, Bruce felt some degree of severity was due. "You need to know that this is important."

As if he was being sworn to secrecy, which technically he was, the orthopedist agreed. Bruce let him into the room to check on Clint.

"So, how are we doing? Getting a little more conscious there, sir? I'm sorry they didn't give us a name to go by. Do you know why you're here?" The doctor pulled up the chart and picked a pen from his pocket. His eyes glazed over the vital readings.

The mask of anesthetic lifted again and Clint seemed fully conscious. "A-C.B. Recovering. Injury. Surgery."

"That's correct. Now, you lost a lot of blood, so you've been given number of transfusions. We were able to repair the damage to your femur, but recovery may take a while." As the doctor spoke he moved to Clint's side. He was checking on the leg, his pulse, the darkening bruises, and the reflexes of his face.

"Long recovery." Clint parroted.

"How's the pain levels?"

"Adequately suppressed, sir."

"Good. If you need anything just alert one of the nurses, all right? I'll be back to check on you soon. Now the medical history wasn't able to obtain any adequate adverse reactions to medication. It's almost a little late to ask now, but is there anything you can think of that we should know?"

"Never had morphine, sir. Most things don't agree with me."

The doctor took a note down on his tablet. "Got it. Now if you start feeling sick let one of the nurses know, we'll adjust things. If you're feeling hungry we've got some saltines waiting to try out first. Keep it light for now." The doctor finished his remarks on the form, said a goodbye to Bruce and stepped out.

"Tired." Clint said when he was gone. The agent pressed his face against his arm, hiding his eyes from the light. "Wouldn't let me sleep. Want to crash."

Bruce sat down again, pulling his chair closer to Clint's bed. "Go ahead and sleep. I'll wait around."

"Don't make me talk." Clint whispered, letting his body relax. "Why didn't Tony come?"

"He had to finish a few things, that's all."

"I wanted him to come. "

Bruce had the impression Clint was not talking about Tony being absent when he awoke. He made a mental note to give Stark a call once Clint settled. "He'll be here soon. Try to relax."

:(:):(:):

Tony missed the first seven calls from the hospital. He was in the garage, fiddling with a few of his car engines for the past day. Tuesday was when he made the early morning drive to the hospital with Clint in the back seats of his car. It was now Wednesday and Tony had done little to leave his lab.

Pepper called with a company update. He didn't take the call, giving JARVIS some excuse to give to her. Then he muted his AI, allowing Tony to work uninterrupted throughout the day and the proceeding night. If Banner wanted to leave the hospital, he could take a cab or call Happy.

Tony started out at his desk, then moved to his full lab floor displays, then he ended up by the Shelby. The hood was off within five minutes and the engine disassembled in another ten. There Tony remained, soldering, refitting, tweaking, and customizing until he recreated an engine again.

When the eight calls from the hospital came over, Tony was asleep in the front seat of the Shelby. Taking a prerogative, JARVIS overrode his command system and softly roused Tony from his sleep.

_"Sir, a call from Dr. Banner, shall I patch him through?"_

Tony grunted by way of response.

_"I will take that as a yes. Dr. Banner you are on the overhead."_

Tony rubbed his eyes with the backs of his hand to wake himself up. He check the time to see it was now late Wednesday morning. When's the last time he ate something?

"_Tony? You there?"_

Tony groaned again and pushed open the door to his car to climb out. "Ya-huh. What's going on?"

_"Figured you'd want to know Agent Barton's out of surgery. He was asking for you. He's worried you aren't here, Tony."_

The part-time Iron Man was fully awake. "Me? What? He's alive?"

_"Get yourself over here to see him and stop being so dramatic. Pick me up a coffee on your way, and breakfast. You're buying. I've been trying to call you all morning"_

Tony had his keys still in his pocket. He grabbed his wallet off the work bench and went back to his Mercedes. "Ok, got it. On my way."

_"Next time we have an injured, near-death house guest you get to play nurse."_

"Fair offer." Tony said.

_"Don't leave yet!"_ Bruce shouted as he heard the sound of Tony's car starting_. "Go into your closet and get me another set of clothes. And take a shower. You probably stink and we've both been wearing the same thing for three days."_

"Who's the needy one now?"

:(:):(:):

Tony parked in the hospital lot. He stacked his two cups of coffee together and grabbed his bag of food for Banner before shutting the car door with his foot. He waved a hello to the man in the security booth, ducked his head passed the clambering paparazzi then walked in through the emergency entrance. A wave for the new girl behind the desk as he blew past saying: "Tony Stark." He started up the hall without pausing to sign in.

"Sir! Excuse me, sir!'

Tony ignored her and continued on his way. Bruce gave him a rough idea of where he was to go, if he followed the instructions properly. He got turned around once and ran into a security guard who nearly threw him out. Tony bribed him with an autograph then he was led back the correct direction until he ended up outside Clint's door.

Barton was not dead, Tony reminded himself. Not only was he going to live, but Clint asked for Stark.

Tony opened the door and walked in. Clint was laying sideways in bed with two thin pillows clutched between his arms. His head was pressed against the bed railing, apparently enjoying how cool it was against his skin. His eyes opened for a moment to see Tony walk in but closed soon after recognizing him. At some point a nurse had wrestled the archer into a hospital gown. His right leg was on top of the left. A mound of red gauze was tied across the wound.

Bruce stretched up from the chair he sat in and took one of the coffee cups from Tony along with the bag of food.

"He's hurting." Bruce whispered. "Morphine was making him sick. You should say something to him."

"Say something like what?" Tony asked.

"Friendly-like." Bruce replied.

Tony walked over, taking Bruce's chair and scraping it to the front of Hawkeye. The agent's eyes open some in curiosity, but he didn't move. The lines on his face were a powerful tell about his condition.

"What's up? You're acting like someone sawed your leg open or something." Tony asked playfully.

Clint grunted. "Lemme be."

"Coffee?" Tony had gotten it for himself, but the pathetic look Clint gave him was enough to make him part with the only hot drink he'd had in over a day. Clint looked at it debating.

"Just take some small sips." Bruce said. He'd gone into the hall for a second chair and returned to place it beside Stark. "I don't want you setting your stomach off again."

Clint looked at the cup. It was difficult to hide the longing in his eyes. He hadn't had a mug of hot anything in weeks.

"Here." Tony pulled the straw out of someone's left over soda and removed the top from his coffee. He added the straw and held it close enough for Clint to drink it. "Not that I want you spewing on me, Robin, but you look like you need a coffee." Clint didn't object as he slowly drank. After a few greedy sips Tony pulled it away and set the cup aside to see how the first bit would settle.

"I fixed the Shelby." Tony said.

"You what?" Clint asked.

"The car, I fixed it. You're not allowed to drive it, but you can ride in it."

To that Clint cracked a little smile. "Took me a sec to know what you were talking about. I was out a day. You fixed it in a day?"

"It wasn't that bad."

"You melted the engine, didn't you?"

"And I fixed it, what's the big deal? Move on."

Bruce sat back, chowing down on his Burger King Breakfast sandwich while enjoying this peculiar exchange between Clint and Tony. He was curious to see how they were going to act now that they were back together. Actually seeing them in action was proving more interesting than he thought. Clint probably could have given him a harder time but he truly was feeling like he'd been filleted like a fish.

"Nurses treating you like a human being?" Tony asked.

"Think they're a little scared of me. Or Bruce."

Bruce shrugged as if he didn't know what was being referred to.

"I can't possibly imagine why." Tony grabbed the coffee and held it closer. Clint sipped it. "You hungry?"

Clint shook his head no after Tony removed the coffee again. "Didn't end well. Breakfast."

"When can you leave?"

Bruce answered. "Not for a few days. they want to make sure he produces enough of his own blood before he goes. They don't consider him out of the woods yet."

"This is Malibu, there are no woods." Tony replied. "Let's spring him loose. The Strategic Humans In Elegant Lady Dresses aren't coming to collect him or something?"

Clint cocked a smile, but his eyes were closed again. His knuckles were white from where they were gripping the pathetic pillows he'd been supplied with. If he felt better, he would have laughed but it was apparent he had no strength in him to do that.

"Can't they give him something other than morphine?" Tony asked Banner.

"They did, he's on it. It's upsetting his stomach. They started him with a lower does for now given how poor he did with the morphine." Bruce explained.

"Well he looks like he's going through labor. " Tony complained.

"Thanks." Clint said.

"That was not meant as a compliment. Let me go try and scare someone up, this is ridiculous." Tony handed the coffee to Bruce and left to find himself a white coat.

Bruce and Clint looked at each other.

"Did you tell him?" Clint asked.

Banner shook his head. "What happened in Mexico is between the two of you. I'm not even supposed to know. I just happened to be here when you felt like drunk-confessing. You want him to know, you need to tell him. "

"Not his fault."

"When you showed up the other night it was pretty obvious you thought it was."

"I was mad. He didn't know. How could he? I didn't call him after the first time."

"But you wanted him to come and he didn't. Then to make it worse you were tortured for no reason but to find out how to get to Tony, who should have been with you to begin with in your eyes."

It was strange how well Bruce had hit the nail on the head. He had blamed Tony for being an idiot for a while. He'd been through so much on his mission to Russia which ended up all over the world. Some of the outliers on that mission settled in Mexico and Clint went down to round the rest of them up. With how dangerous the initial mission was, the only thing Clint wanted was a friend he could rely on to back him was still in Russia, leaving Tony as a good go-to. When Stark turned him down it cut deep.

"If I hadn't called Tony, they wouldn't have known to get to him through me. It's not his fault."

"Does that mean you two are ok then?"

Clint smirked. "That depends if he can get this pain to go away or not."

Tony returned with a doctor in tow. He was gesturing, complaining, throwing around his not inconsiderable influence until the doctor agreed to get Clint on something else. A nurse brought that something a few minutes later and suddenly Clint was at last beginning to relax. His death grip on the pillows slackened for one and his face began to smooth.

Tony sat back in his chair like a hero. He pulled out the breakfast sandwich he had thus far ignored and was just about to consider eating it when Clint suddenly rolled over into his waiting pot and vomited what he'd drank from the coffee. Tony rolled his sandwich back up and put it away.

"I think I'm going to die." Clint moaned. He pulled one of the pillows over his head and shivered.

"You're not going to die." Bruce told him. "You're not going to be very comfortable for a while, but you won't die. I think I'll go let them know you're still having a problem. Be good while I'm gone."

Bruce stood, heading out with the door closing softly behind him. The minute he was away, Tony got out of his chair and paced around the room. Being in a hospital always made him uncomfortable. Especially when it was a friend who he had to visit. The tension between Clint and Tony had noticeably lessened but Stark knew there were some things left unsaid between them. Now that they were alone he intended to take the chance to say some of those things.

"Don't say it. Just forget it." Clint interrupted him.

"What?"

"Drop it. You're an idiot. You held a grudge. I held a grudge. Now it's over."

Tony stopped pacing and crossed his arms. "Is that the wonderful drugs talking?"

"That's the wonderful coffee which you probably really wanted but spoon fed to me instead talking." Clint replied. His voice was a whisper and difficult to hear beneath the pillow fabric. Tony walked over and removed it from his was exhausted, eyes sunken and hollow. He looked like he'd gone ten rounds with a baseball bat.

"Next time I'll hangout pool side and you get to drag yourself through the door with a broken leg."

"I already told Bruce the next rogue agent that walks through the door I have to drag to the hospital by myself. Do I have to agree to this too?"

"Or I could give you a broken leg now and make it even." Clint quipped without missing a beat.

"Do I get to pick the leg?"

"You can pick what I break it with."

"Somehow the method worries me more than the thought that you would be willing to do that." He looked at Clint, laying in the bed next to a bucket of his own vomit with a leg the size of a bowling ball and an incision that looked like at any moment it would split to the seams. "You know you look like crap."

"Appreciate the complement. Here I thought I looked worse."

"Pain any better?"

"Stomach's worse. Leg's more numb though."

A nurse walked into the room followed by a few doctors and Bruce. It was time for Clint's hourly exam and he was very glad to have a numb leg for the majority of it. He endured the pokes and prods, answered quickly, honestly, and directly about his condition then waited for them to shuttle out. Alone again, he rolled on to his side and with Tony's assurance the billionaire wouldn't be going anywhere, Clint fell into a fitful sleep.

* * *

last part next:)


	4. The Makeover

_this book is unrelated to the previous. As stated, this will be a compilation of moments that I enjoyed toying with in my mind but never had the opportunity to write. I hope you enjoy this one  
_

**Moments Part 2**  
**The Makeover**

_By, PeechTao_

She happened upon them one stray evening. Her entering Natasha's room at all was unplanned. Seeing them together, that was even more of a fracas. Pepper Potts had known as all those who dwelled in Stark Tower (and some of those that did not) that Clint Barton and Natasha Romanov were a thing. She hadn't seen any unscripted shows of affection. There were no stolen moments in broom closets from which they both emerged smudged and askew. But affection existed nonetheless. Even if it wasn't on display for everyone to see.

It was late in the evening. Tony had planned a little getaway dinner for Pepper and him. She'd gone to Natasha's room on a whim to look for a different pair of earrings or necklace to borrow. Seeing them together, bent over the bathroom counter, erased her memory of exactly what she'd come in for to begin with.

The minute they sensed someone's approach, Clint pulled away from the woman. She was seated on the bathroom table top with her back against the mirror. Her lips were rose red, a favorite color of hers. One eye was highlighted in black liner while the other was not. She looked curiously at Pepper.

"Oh my gosh—I'm so sorry! I didn't think you'd be having, I mean, I didn't plan to find you all . . . well . . ." Pepper reeled back until her legs smacked into Natasha's bed and she was forced to sit or fall down. Her hand was over her eyes, as if trying to block out the sight she'd been assaulted with.

"Pepper, what do you think we're doing?" Natasha asked, her tone amused.

Clint grinned, watching as Tony's girl slowly peeked out from beneath the cover of her fingers.

When Pepper looked again, she realized at once the mistake she'd made. Clint was standing in front of Natasha, a makeup brush in one hand and a container of eyeliner in the other. His mouth had a capped tube of mascara on one side with a spare make up brush beside that. A thin lip liner pencil was tucked behind his ear. He was also fully clothed. Pepper realized that Natasha too was covered head to foot in a flowing blue sequin dress and delicate black pumps. If they'd been planning on anything intercourse related, then the process of it happening was relatively impossible.

Natasha laughed. "Did I ever tell you Clint is a talented makeup artist?" She asked.

Pepper continued to sit, not sure of what else she should do. Her head wagged left and right.

"Clint extracted the makeup tools from his mouth and set them on the counter. "I just picked it up when I was a kid. I worked in a circus. Learned everything about a smoky eye from a bearded lady named Agatha Frank. The lips? That was all Two-Bit Billy and his Wacky Clown Hoard."

Clint dusted his brush in the eye powder and delicately finished Natasha's other eye with the flare of an artist. "Natasha can manage good work herself in a pinch. But when it comes to this girly feminine crap, she likes to defer to my expertise in the area."

Natasha smacked his arm, which only made Clint smile.

Pepper aroused from her small stupor and approached. She stood beside Clint's arm, watching him work with a practiced air. It was like observing a master makeup artist pump out thirty celebrities for a red carpet event.

"How do you do with hair?" Pepper asked lightly.

"I can manage a ponytail." He replied over his shoulder.

"I've got a date tonight with a 7th level KGB associate straight from the Czech Republic." Natasha told her. "Clint wants me to look my best so I can seal a night alone. Clint will be waiting in the hotel room with some handcuffs and if I'm lucky a private helicopter too."

"Only if you're lucky." Clint replied. He put the finishing touches on her eye. He stepped back, turned her chin left, right, up, and down. Then he decided she was indeed a masterpiece and Pepper could but agree. Clint did amazing work. No one could refute that.

"All right, Pepper, you're up." Natasha hopped off the counter and patted a hand on the flat space cleared beside the sink. "Give Tony a good surprise and let Clint doll you up pretty for him."

Pepper held her hand out. "Oh, no, I couldn't—"

Clint picked her up around her waist and plopped her down on the counter top by force. He picked through Natasha's open makeup case for the colors he decided would be most appropriate and when he set a few choices out, he set to work. "Straighten your shoulders, pucker your lips, and smooth your face. I'm not going to tattoo this on or something so just relax."

Without being given a choice in the matter, and knowing full well her refusal of this exclusive service would hurt his feelings, Pepper did her best to follow his instructions and enjoy their little moment. The one thing she did appreciate about living in the Stark Tower was her chance to learn about the other men and women that Tony had to associate with. Everyone had their own individual story and background. Everyone suffered their own trials in life. Everyone was damaged. Perhaps that fact is what helped Tony so much since the attack on New York left him broken and unsure with himself. These people, odd as some of them were, healed him. That was something Pepper could never repay them for.

The outer door swung inward and another human found his way into Natasha's room. Instead of trying to track down jewelry, this man was looking for Pepper herself.

"Pep, you finished yet? Our reservation's at—" Tony's voice cut out upon witnessing what he considered at the time a compromising position between one Pepper Potts and Clint Barton. Without missing a beat Stark rushed him. The two collided. Clint flew off sideways and the two came crashing down to the floor in a heap.

Their pile of flailing arms and legs with the shower of makeup products landed directly beside Natasha's foot. The assassin looked over at Pepper. She said, "I think we might have to start locking the door when we have Clint fool around with us."

* * *

ok hope you enjoyed! Trying to remember some of the other little scenes i liked, but will post more when they come to me.


	5. Romanov's Roulette

Romanov's Roulette

Thor sat cross legged on the floor. His eyes twirled in his skull as he watched the shimmering metal spin and spin and spin. His head cocked sideways. And he waited.

Click.

Nothing.

The metal began spinning again.

He was thoroughly enthralled in this fantastic game of bravery and skill. To think these mortals would willingly put their lives in the hands of on another for no reason at all. It was fantastic and just the game in which he would enjoy at the expense of his friend's good health. He could not wait to introduce this to Asgard.

The spinning stopped. The gun lifted. Click. Nothing. The gun was spinning again.

The sport was interrupted very suddenly by the hearty scream of Steve Rogers. The captain rushed the table and grabbed the gun off of it.

"What is going on here?!" Steve exclaimed.

Natasha and Clint looked up. They were sitting across from each other in Tony and Banner's respective arm chairs with the glass coffee table between them. Both were equally disappointed when the revolver that they had previously been spinning the barrel of was taken forcibly away.

"Hey, no fair! It was her turn!" Clint shouted. He folded his arms and to Natasha complained: "You're spinning again."

"Cap, give it up. That's my gun." Natasha ordered.

Steve's jaw dropped. "What? No! You two were just sitting here and trying to shoot each other's brains out!"

"It is a fantastic game!" Thor explained for them. He stood, all his regalia as the son of Odin suddenly showering through on his companions. His speech became verbose. His body taught with authority. "It is a game in which men must find their metal. They must dig into their souls and discover whether or not their hearts hold the power to stand firm even in the face of death. They must trust their hands, and not crumble when the trigger pulls, even should it mean their ultimate demise. This, this is no game. It is the challenge of a man's soul."

There weren't many things in life that would cause Steve's jaw to drop. He'd seen a man rip his face off, exposing a red skull near flesh-less beneath. He'd met aliens, geniuses, spies, and killers. But in the end it was those words which caused his jaw to hit the floor. While he was distracted, Natasha reached up and retrieved her gun back. At Clint's direction she was forced to spin again and the following click against her temple produced no bullet. Natasha smugly handed it to Clint.

Thor was fully satisfied now in the intricacies of the game. He gave a nodding approval to the results and with his cape flowing behind him he headed into the kitchen for a snack.

"What . . . just . . ." Steve said slowly.

Clint stood and placed Natasha's gun back in Steve's still open hand. Natasha got up as well and both followed Thor's lead to the kitchen. Steve turned slightly to watch them go. His hand ran across the old revolver. He'd used this style numerous times in the war, but this one felt lighter. Mostly likely modified by Natasha. Out of habit he checked the chamber, meaning to clear the one round they'd been playing Russian Roulette with. Then he realized something he hadn't ever considered. There was no round in the gun.

Steve opened the fast loader and double checked the revolver to be sure he was right. There was nothing. No bullets. The chamber was completely empty.

When Steve raised his head to look at the group of three, he saw only Clint's knowing face looking back at him. There was a hint of mystery behind his eyes, as if he'd sneaked the bullet out himself without informing Natasha. Then again, just as Steve noticed the weight was different, so she would have as well.

So Steve could only sit back, watching the members of team Avengers get together all the necessities of a plate full of s'mores, and wonder to himself about his own sanity.


End file.
